


wanna wanna wolf

by bleep0bleep



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Different First Meeting, Alternate Universe - Summer Camp, Fluff, M/M, Pining
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-01
Updated: 2016-08-01
Packaged: 2018-07-28 14:55:03
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,893
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7645477
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bleep0bleep/pseuds/bleep0bleep
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The boy looks like a dream, the way the sunlight streams through the open door, lighting up his silhouette as he strides into the cabin.<br/>If Stiles didn’t already know he was bisexual he definitely would know now.<br/>He closes his mouth. “Okay, dad, I changed my mind, I’ll stay for the summer,” he says hastily, and hangs up the phone.</p>
            </blockquote>





	wanna wanna wolf

**Author's Note:**

> TEAM WHAT WHAT IN THE BUTT for the Sterek Summer Spectacle! Week one: summer.

 

“I’m serious, Dad, come get me!” Stiles doesn’t want to whine, but he’s desperate.

He stomps his foot. Somewhere out there there’s a summer camp that does normal things like hiking and rowboating and playing capture the flag and his best friend Scott is at said camp doing all these said things _without Stiles_ , and Stiles is definitely not there.

He eyes the carved wooden sign that hangs above the main cabin that serves as the office that reads, “Camp Wanna Wanna Wolf.” It is definitely not Camp Butterfly Meadows, the summer camp that Stiles has been going to since he was twelve for five amazing weeks every summer.

“I can’t believe you got on the wrong bus,” his dad says. “Look, you know I can’t leave the station, I’m training recruits all this month, and it’s a six hour drive. I don’t have the time, and I can’t send anyone up to get you. Mrs. Hale already told me she’s happy to have you there for her summer session, you should be thanking her! Apparently her camp is quite exclusive. And she’s not even charging me, on account of me being a Sheriff and all.”

Stiles huffs, imagining his dad with a smug smile. He glances over at the desk where Talia Hale, the director of the camp is sitting behind her desk, typing away at her computer. She catches Stiles’ eye and waves at him.

Stiles waves back halfheartedly. She probably isn’t charging his dad for the camp session because her camp is _rich as fuck._ The cabins have actual doors that stay on them, everything is freshly painted, they have whole and actual rowboats, kayaks, a rock climbing wall, a high ropes course, and their camp makes Butterfly Meadows look like a pigsty. Stiles is pretty sure he saw horses. And goats. And chickens. What kind of camp needs a petting zoo?

Plus, apparently it’s like three hours just back to the nearest town, and no one is willing to drive Stiles there so he can catch another (plausibly very long and overpriced) bus home. If they even have buses.

“Seriously, dad,” Stiles says, dropping his voice to a whisper. “It’s kind of weird here.” He can’t really explain it. He’s only been here for a day, and he can’t help but notice… well, all the camp activities are _really_ physical, okay? Like, if there was a teenager who wanted to sign up for four hours of swimming and four hours cross country hiking in one day, they could, but why is it such a popular option? And there are so many night hikes. Why would you want to go on a night hike when it’s a full moon? You wouldn’t be able to see _any_ stars.

“You’re the one that always says normal is overrated,” his dad says.

“Don’t use my words against me!” Stiles hisses into the phone. “I’m serious, there’s something up with this camp.”

He can’t put his finger on it. There are only about twenty kids here— all teenagers, all Stiles’ age, and a few adults he’s seen sporadically, even though it looks like the camp facilities are enough for fifty or more.

And there’s something else. Maybe it’s the way everyone seems to notice him, and it’s not just because he’s the awkward kid who got on the wrong bus and ended up at the wrong summer camp. No, that’s the kind of awkward that should get a weird stare every now and then, but there should be plenty of new campers who get that.

No, Stiles gets full-on _stares._ Like, the two different dudes and the one girl that sat with Stiles during lunch, they kept _smelling_ him. Taking long, deep breaths, nostrils flaring and all.

It’s weird. Like supernatural weird.

Not that it exists, but still.

“Please, there’s a supply run going to town this weekend, I can hold out till then, then I can take the bus back, or you know what, I can even take a different bus and go stay with Great Aunt Edna—”

“Stiles. Look, can’t you just deal with it? They’ve already made accommodations for you here. You could turn this whole getting on the wrong bus thing into a learning experience—”

The door to the office swings open, and Stiles swears time stops.

The boy looks like a dream, the way the sunlight streams through the open door, lighting up his silhouette as he strides into the cabin. The other teenager is dripping on the floor, tossing his hair back with an annoyed scowl. His white t-shirt clings to his chest, and water droplets fall to the wooden beams in the floor in a steady _plop plop plop._

Sharp cheekbones, dark hair, gorgeous green or gray or blue eyes, and Stiles would love to get closer to see exactly what color they are, and ugh, that body.

If Stiles didn’t already know he was bisexual he definitely would know now.

He closes his mouth. “Okay, dad, I changed my mind, I’ll stay for the summer,” he says hastily, and hangs up the phone. It waddles in the dock, curly cord dangling until it stops moving.

The newcomer walks right up to Talia’s desk, leaving wet drip marks all over the floor, and a slack-jawed Stiles in his wake. He wasn’t at lunch earlier, because Stiles definitely would have remembered.

“Mom, what’s this I hear about a _hu_ —”

Stiles can’t hear what Talia says to him, but the boy turns around sharply and locks eyes with Stiles. His mouth falls open a little bit and his nostrils flare.

“Derek, for the last time, you need to properly towel off before you enter any of the cabins. And why were you in the lake fully clothed, anyways?”

Derek scowls. “Laura pushed me in.”

“Mmhm.” Talia stands up, rests a hand on Derek’s shoulder, and then to Stiles’ horror, leads him over to where Stiles is standing by the phone. “Stiles, this is my son, Derek. He’s a senior counselor here. He’ll get you situated. Alpha Cabin, Derek.” She hands him a sheet of paper and then pats Stiles on the shoulder.

Derek stares at Stiles with what Stiles is pretty sure is abject horror on his face.

Stiles rubs the back of his neck, looking down at his feet.

“But _Mom,”_ Derek hisses, “That’s _my_ —”

“Yes, I know,” Talia says calmly. She smiles at Derek, and then at Stiles.

“Fine. Come on,” Derek says gruffly, and starts off the door, not bothering to see if Stiles is following.

Stiles grabs his duffel bag and dashes off after him.

 

* * *

 

“Really? You can’t lend me a hand here?” Stiles huffs, dropping his bag on the trail and trying to catch his breath.

Derek at least stops this time, his glorious ass bouncing before he turns around and glares at Stiles.

“Why the fuck are we going so far from the main camp?” All the beautiful pristine cabins were all back in the field by the huge flagpole. They’ve been hiking for at least fifteen minutes.

Stiles can barely see the camp through the trees.

“Because we’re going to Alpha Cabin,” Derek says.

“Is that where all the losers who aren’t here for the actual summer session are staying?”

“No, the actual summer session is for eight to ten year olds.” Derek stops and sighs.

“So who were all the—”

“Counselors. We get everyone up here a week before the campers show up to do training, and then the official chaos will be here Monday.”

“Oh.” This is a kids’ camp. Stiles just told his dad he wanted to stay at a _kids’ camp_ for the next five weeks.

At the top of the hill Stiles can see it, partially hidden by rustling pines. A small cabin with cute blue shutters lays just off the trail. It’s a little dilapidated compared to the ones in the main camp, but it’s got a sweet coziness Stiles likes immediately.

Derek opens the door and steps inside, folding his arms. “This is the senior counselor’s cabin. I’m the only one who doesn’t have to bunk in a kids’ cabin because I’m overseeing the rest of the counselors. It’s a huge responsibility.”

“Right,” Stiles says, grateful to be out of the sun. He drops his duffel and leans against the wall.

The cabin is small, outfitted with two beds and two desks, and some shelves for storage. One half is clearly Derek’s, the bed already neatly made with a navy duvet and matching pillow, and folded clothes lining the shelves. There’s a plethora of books and handwritten notebooks piled on the desk, and a few copies of _Sports Illustrated._

“Hey, Tom Daly!” Stiles wolf whistles at the cover, picking it up and looking over it fondly. It’s one of his favorites. Tom Daly isn’t his usual type, but he is very hot.

Derek turns bright red. He walks over and grabs the magazine out of Stiles’ hands. “Don’t touch my stuff.” He grabs a roll of tape out of the desk drawer and then proceeds to tape down a line in the center of the room, ending at the door. “Stay on your side of the room. Your breakfast is at six o’clock before the camp breakfast. You have to pack a lunch and eat it here or out on the trail. Dinner is at eight o’clock. Don’t interfere with camp activities. My mom made you a list of stuff you could do.”

Stiles looks at the sheet of paper. On it is a very intricate color-coded schedule of the camp programs, and what time which cabin will be at what activity. Stiles’ activities are listed in red. Very quickly he notices a pattern.

“Is it because I’m too old?” he demands.

“What?”

“Why I can’t go swimming or kayaking or anything when any of the campers are?”

Derek narrows his eyes. “It’s because we have specific activities. Cabin bonding. Teambuilding. You can’t just latch onto a group. Also, yes, you’re the wrong age group, and also you don’t have enough training to be a counselor, so—”

“But you have a week!” Stiles throws his arms wide. “Train me.”

“You can’t—” Derek splutters. “You— don’t have enough experience.”

“I’ve been a camper at Camp Butterfly Meadows for four years, and this year I was gonna be a counselor in training, but I ended up here instead.” Stiles grins and steps closer. “C’mon. I hate doing stuff by myself.”

Derek takes a step backwards. “No. No, you need to, um, have been a camper _here._ We have a lot of Wanna Wanna Wolf specific traditions and stuff. So just stick to your special schedule. Or stay here in the cabin.”

Stiles raises an eyebrow, walking right back into Derek’s space, practically close enough to bump chests. He’s pretty pleased about his daring, actually. “What about you? What are your duties, O Senior Counselor?”

Derek’s nostrils flare, and he practically jumps back like he’s been shocked. “Important ones,” he snaps. He turns around and grabs a book off his desk, flopping furiously onto his bed and burying his face into the book.

The cover is upside down.

Fine. Whatever, Stiles knows when he’s not wanted.

It’s going to be a long five weeks.

 

* * *

 

 

Okay.

To be very honest.

Stiles _loves_ Camp Wanna Wanna Wolf.

After the first week of awkward silence from Derek, the campers arrived and it’s been nonstop fun. Sure, he can’t really directly interact with the kids, and he thought having to do all his activities by himself would be boring, but it’s... not.

The freedom is overwhelmingly nice.

Stiles has never done this before, had his own schedule where he could go as he pleased (within the limits of activities on Talia’s schedule). If he wants to sleep all day in his underwear, he can. If he wants to go swimming right after he eats lunch, he can. If he wants to eat five servings of pancakes in the morning, he can.

And he does. Unlike at Camp Butterfly Meadows where Stiles had to participate in everything and stick to his cabin’s specific schedule for the day, he can pretty much do what he pleases, as long as he stays within the limits of the schedule Talia gave him.

And Derek.

Derek, who wakes up at the crack of dawn each morning and does shirtless pushups in the cabin while Stiles is still asleep (pretending, really.)

The week of camp counselor training Derek is notoriously busy, but now that the camp is up and running he spends long hours in the cabin.

It’s only the second day, and Stiles isn’t sure he can stand much more of this. The way Derek keeps pointedly looking up at him from his side of the room and harrumphing. Where the cheesy red t-shirt with camp logo looks cheesy on Stiles, it looks absolutely fantastic on Derek, how tight it is, stretching around his bicep muscles.

The weird thing is, Stiles has had fleeting crushes before on hot people. It’s easy to get overwhelmed by that much beauty, but it’s always passing.

Derek, though, has a bookshelf full of science fiction titles, well-thumbed, spines broken, and _romance novels._ It’s this detail that makes Stiles curious, makes him want to know Derek. He wants to know why his favorite scene in _A Desperate Arrangement_ is the weepy reunion scene, the page dog-eared and worn, and the pages are even more worn than the sex scenes. Seriously. And that’s some good sex.

Stiles has never jerked off so much in his life. He does it in the day, when Derek’s out, and in the afternoons, when he can see Derek out lifeguarding by the lake, just a silhouette sitting on the dock. He can barely see Derek, but he knows it’s Derek, and that’s enough for him. He does it at night, when Derek is leading campfire, and Stiles watches the stars out the window and listens to the strange howls coming from the forest.

He takes himself in hand, stroking himself lazily, and coming all over his sheets. Stiles has pretty much stopped wearing clothes when he’s alone in the cabin, so there isn’t as much laundry as he needs to do. He takes to setting down a towel whenever he goes to town, and then just rinses it in the shower and hangs it up to dry.

The first night Derek had come back from campfire, he had taken one whiff of the room and somehow _knew_ , even though Stiles was sure to spritz air freshener everywhere. Spunk is spunk, man. He’s a teenage boy, what did Derek expect him to do?

Derek just right up turned around and left, door slamming on his way out.

Curious, because the nights-out bell had rung thirty minutes ago, Stiles watched Derek run all the way to the lake, and jump in.

What a weirdo.

It’s one of the rare nights where Derek doesn’t have to run campfire, and they’re both in the room together. Stiles is in his bed, reading one of Derek’s romance novels, and Derek is in his, reading one of Stiles’ comic books.

One of the weird, unspoken things they started was borrowing each other’s books. Well, Stiles did it first, and then he found a copy of his Young Avengers on Derek’s bed one day. They didn’t say anything about it, but Stiles pulled out the spine of the next volume, as a recommendation, and Hawkeye, in case Derek might like that too.

And so it went. They silently recommended each other books and comics, and didn’t talk to each other. Much.

“Stop it,” Derek mutters.

“I’m not doing anything,” Stiles says, and for good measure, sticks his tongue out at Derek.

Derek sets his book down on the bed and closes his eyes, breathes in and out laboriously.

A shaft of moonlight shines through the cabin window.

Stiles clucks his tongue. “I never do know why they schedule night hikes on full moons. Isn’t the point of night hikes to see the stars?”

Derek tenses up; Stiles can see a vein bulging in his neck. “Right. Full moon. Weird.” A bead of sweat drips down his face.

“Are you okay, buddy?”

What Stiles expects is Derek to tell him not to call him buddy, to glare at him and scowl, or even leave the cabin and go jump in the lake again.

What he doesn’t expect is for Derek to make a low noise, deep and guttural in his throat, and then his eyes— they flicker, bright gold.

Now Stiles knows Derek’s eyes are many colors— green, gray, blue, and little bright flecks of honeyed brown, but not _gold._

“Dude, are you okay?” Stiles asks, alarmed. “Your eyes just—”

Derek blinks, and his eyes are normal again.

“I’m fine,” Derek mutters, and he gets up. “I’m going on the night hike.”

Stiles must have imagined the golden glow.

 

* * *

 

He can’t find his t-shirt. He knows he hasn’t done laundry in awhile, but it’s so _far_ to walk back and he’s only supposed to do it when he’s not in the way of the counselors doing the kids’ laundry. Talia gave him three of the red camp t-shirts, with the silly wolf logo on them, and they’re super comfortable.

Stiles rummages through all of his clothes, and knows there’s at least two of those shirts in his dirty pile are covered in mud when he attempted (and failed) to make a cool dragon-shaped pot in the ceramics workshop.

It’s chilly tonight, and Stiles clutches at his bare chest, grumbling.

He glances over Derek’s side of the room. The worn piece of tape on the floor is dirty and scuffed in places— the rule pretty much stays in contact whenever the both of them are in the room, but they’ve crossed over to borrow books and return them and stuff.

Stiles steps over the line, feeling the same rush of excitement every time he does.

All the clothes in Derek’s dresser are folded neatly, and he’s got a number of clean, roomy shirts to choose from. And camp t-shirts too, so Derek won’t notice Stiles borrowed.

Stiles grabs a shirt and pulls it over his head when he notices something red sticking out from under Derek’s pillow. He lifts it up and examines; it’s a crumpled camp t-shirt wedged between the mattress and the side of the bed. Strange that it’s not in Derek’s laundry basket, where all his clean clothes go, neat freak that he is.

Whatever.

Stiles gets back into bed, thoroughly engrossed in _A Garden Is A Lovesome Thing_ when Derek gets back from campfire.

“What’s up,” Stiles offers in way of greeting, and then he looks up when he doesn’t hear Derek move.

Derek is just standing there, staring at Stiles. His eyes narrow, and there’s an intensity of his gaze that Stiles has never seen before.

“Why. Are. You. Wearing. My. Shirt.” It’s not a question.

“Dude, no, this is my shirt,” Stiles lies.

“No, it’s not.” Derek takes a deep breath.

“All the camp shirts are the same, Derek,” Stiles snaps, setting down his novel. It had just been getting to the good part.

“I can’t take this anymore,” Derek snaps. “I’m going to see my mom about this, we’ve been living in the same cabin _forever_ and I can’t deal with you—”

“We hardly talk,” Stiles says, offended.

“You _smell,”_ Derek says, gritting his teeth.

“Fine, I’ll take a shower,” Stiles says, getting up.

“That’ll make it worse.”

“That makes no sense whatsoever.”

Derek clutches his hands to his forehead and groans.

“Is this a werewolf thing?” Stiles folds his arms.

“A what— no, there are no such things as—”

The panic in Derek’s eyes confirms only what Stiles has been suspecting since his third day here. “I knew it,” Stiles says, delighted. “Okay, so why am I extra smelly? Why is that weird?”

“It’s weird because you smell _terrible,_ not because I’m a werewolf,” Derek says.

“This whole camp is full of werewolves. I mean, why else would you stick the one human all the way out here in case any of the kiddos randomly start sprouting fur? It’s a control thing, isn’t it, and you’re the one who’s the Senior Counselor, Mr. Responsible.” Stiles laughs. “And the full moon night hikes are an excuse to go howl, come on, you think I wouldn’t notice that? And there is so _much_ physical activity, and did I mention this is the first camp I’ve been in where there isn’t a first aid hut? Like, really.”

Derek’s eyebrows furrow. “Okay— if you’re right, and I’m not saying you’re right— why haven’t you said anything? Why didn’t you try to leave?”

Stiles shrugs, and he thinks of the arts and crafts classes at Butterfly Meadows, and the hordes of mosquitos. He misses his friends there, but he’s gotten used to the solitude here and the freedom. And watching Derek work out.

And how they’ve been slowly, kind of approaching a silent friendship.

He ignores the question. “So back to the smelling bad thing, what’s your problem, really—”

Derek’s eyes glow gold. “My problem is that you smell so fucking good, Stiles. You jerk off every single day and then it just sits in the cabin, building up, and my problem is that I like you and it’s tiring, pretending to hate you, even though sometimes I do because you don’t understand anything about mates and werewolf compatibility and how much I want you, and everyday—”

Stiles doesn’t need to hear any more, his face splits into a euphoric grin, and he steps deliberately over the line, towards Derek. “Good, because I want you too.”

Derek’s mouth falls open, and he freezes.

Seriously, does Stiles have to do everything? It may be the glut of romance novels he’s been reading, but he clutches at his chest and declares, “Kiss me, you fool.”

Derek laughs, and suddenly he isn’t the picture-perfect heartthrob that Stiles made him out to be on that first day, the mean bad-boy who Stiles had to win over this summer. Derek laughs like he’s nervous, like he’s a teenage boy.

Derek steps forward and takes a deep breath. Stiles can see it now— every time he thought Derek was annoyed, or his nostrils was flaring, he was taking in his scent, and a delicious thrill runs through him, that Derek _likes_ the way he smells, maybe likes it too much.

Stiles moves first; kisses him wet and sloppy, but he doesn’t really have a lot of experience. Derek more than makes up for it, guiding him with his lips and tongue and _oh,_ Stiles is in heaven.

Derek pulls apart from him suddenly, his eyes glittering. “We’re going to have to switch cabins.”

“What? Why can’t I sleep with you for the rest of the summer?” The words are out of his mouth before he realizes what he’s said. “Live with you,” Stiles amends.

A grin tugs on the corners of Derek’s lips. “Because everyone will know we’re together.” He kisses Stiles again, softer this time, running his tongue across Stiles’ lower lip. “It’s a scent thing,” he whispers.

“Oh. When would we… have to move cabins?”

“Tomorrow,” Derek says.

Stiles winks. “Better make the most of tonight, then.”

 

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading! Hope you enjoyed!


End file.
